


Between the Drinks and the Morning

by wilddragonflying



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drunkenness, First Kiss, First Time, Geralt likes to go down on his partners and that's canon, Jaskier likes having his hair pulled, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and growled at by a certain grumpy witcher, and likes being praised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22136347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: “Geralt!”Geralt rolls his eyes, suppressing a groan as he turns toward the beaming, chipper bard approaching him, a drink in each hand. “You’re learning,” he grunts, grabbing both and downing one before making a beeline for a corner table, ignoring the grumbling behind him. Jaskier will follow; he always does. Geralt’s learned to accept this.Sure enough, Jaskier settles into the chair next to Geralt’s with another mug in his hand and a pitcher for Geralt. “So,” Jaskier says, taking a sip of his own drink. “What was it this time?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 2477





	Between the Drinks and the Morning

“Geralt!”

Geralt rolls his eyes, suppressing a groan as he turns toward the beaming, chipper bard approaching him, a drink in each hand. “You’re learning,” he grunts, grabbing both and downing one before making a beeline for a corner table, ignoring the grumbling behind him. Jaskier will follow; he always does. Geralt’s learned to accept this.

Sure enough, Jaskier settles into the chair next to Geralt’s with another mug in his hand and a pitcher for Geralt. “So,” Jaskier says, taking a sip of his own drink. “What was it this time?”

“Moonwraith,” Geralt mutters, eyeing Jaskier. “Hanged herself in a well after her betrothed was killed by a lord.”

Jaskier winces and, for once, refrains from a witty comment. They drink in silence for some time before he speaks again. “Any more encounters with wild djinn, or insomnia? Or sexy, insane witches?”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Shame,” Jaskier sighs. “That one would have made for quite the song - I was going to write it when I thought you’d died. But then I discovered you were off having a good time with the insane witch who I thought was going to kill me, and I decided not to.”

“Shame,” Geralt echoes in a slow drawl, looking at Jaskier with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure the world is missing out.”

Jaskier sighs lustily. “Such muse, squandered.”

Geralt squints, the word ‘muse’ ringing a bell. “Whatever happened with that woman? The, uh. Countess?”

“She never came back to me,” Jaskier moans. “And I never found another to replace her.”

Geralt snorts, lips twitching despite himself as he grabs the pitcher, pouring them both refills. “To lost muse, then.”

Jaskier looks at Geralt with wide eyes before breaking into a grin. “To lost muse!” he echoes, lifting his mug in a toast.

* * *

One pitcher becomes two, becomes four, becomes six - and then Geralt stops counting, though he doesn’t stop using Jaskier’s coin to pay for the pitchers even when he passes out around the fourth pitcher. Eventually, Geralt sighs and gathers Jaskier out of his chair, looping the shorter man’s arm around his shoulders so he can haul the bard up to his room. And, well, when he gets up there, there’s plenty of room on the fairly large bed for two people, so Geralt puts Jaskier down on top of the covers, puts his swords in easy reach, and then lies down on the other side of the bed, letting himself fall into a light sleep.

He’s woken by Jaskier groaning, and by the time Geralt opens his eyes and looks at him, Jaskier is looking back, frowning. “Y’know,” he mutters, shifting in place until he can prop his chin in one hand, reclining on an elbow. “I’ve had dreams that started like this. Is this another one?”

Geralt snorts. “Dreams?” he asks, eyebrow raised. “I don’t think I want to know what goes on in your head sometimes, Jaskier.”

Jaskier grins. “It’s a very interesting place,” he assures Geralt, who doesn’t feel terribly assured. “Especially when you’re around.”

“Considering you’ve made yourself my bard, I imagine I’m in your thoughts a lot,” Geralt says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, you’ve taken up permanent residence there,” Jaskier says, his grin smoothing out into something a lot more self-assured as he scoots _closer._ “Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t move. “Really? Even after I nearly lost you your voice? And your life?”

“You also saved my life and my voice,” Jaskier points out, moving even closer. He’s almost touching Geralt now. “I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for that.”

“No thanks necessary,” Geralt mutters, glancing away.

“No, I think I owe you _some_ thanks.” Jaskier’s tone has changed, and he’s propped himself up. “At the very least, I owe you an apology for interrupting your much-needed nap time.”

That earns a snort and a slight smile; Geralt opens his mouth to say - something, but never gets the chance to, because Jaskier’s swooped in, pressing his mouth to Geralt’s in a kiss that Geralt automatically returns, going so far as to reach up, wrap one hand around Jaskier’s bicep before he pulls back, looking at Jaskier searchingly. “If that’s just an apology, or gratitude - “ he starts, voice rough.

“It’s not,” Jaskier murmurs, pressing himself closer, practically climbing on top of Geralt. “It’s - _Gods,_ Geralt - It’s goddamned _years_ in the making, ever since I first heard of you, the first time I saw you in that tavern at the edge of the world.” He leans in for another kiss, one that Geralt allows, his hands skimming up Geralt’s chest to fist in the collar of his jerkin. “All that fucking _leather,_ and all the times you walked into a tavern covered in blood - “

“Prissy little bard have a thing for gore?” Geralt growls, sliding his fingers into Jaskier’s hair, tightening until he can _tug_ and bare his teeth at the frankly delicious whine that leaves Jaskier’s throat. “Or just for the _rougher_ things in life?”

“ _Fuck,_ Geralt,” Jaskier gasps. “I - It - _Both,_ gods, don’t tease me.”

“Like _you_ haven’t been teasing me?” Geralt retorts, tugging harshly on Jaskier’s hair to hear him whimper. “The first time we met, when you were trying to convince me to go to that damned betrothal with you…”

“You never fucking acted on it!” Jaskier protests. “I thought you - “

“What? Only bedded women?”

“Or that you weren’t interested in bedding _me,_ ” Jaskier says, and the look on his face makes something twist in Geralt’s chest. “Which, I could deal with. But this?” He rolls his hips, smirk sharp on his face when Geralt hisses at the brush of their cocks. “I mean, I can deal with _this,_ too. Even if it’s a bit unexpected.”

Geralt snorts, shoving himself up, forcing Jaskier to sit up straight as well. “Unexpected, sure. But is it unwelcome?”

“The only _unwelcome_ thing here is our clothes,” Jaskier groans, pressing in to kiss Geralt again, biting at his lips and yanking at the ties of his jerkin. “Gods, get them _off._ ”

Geralt laughs, low and throaty, and eases Jaskier back so that he can work the ties on his own clothes. Jaskier has his clothes off fast enough that Geralt half-suspects magic, but he can’t even begin to ask about it because the moment his top clothes are off, Jaskier’s knocking his hands aside, skimming his hands over Geralt’s ribs before settling over the ties at his waist. 

“Now these, I know how to work,” he purrs, and Geralt raises an eyebrow, leaning back on his elbows. 

“Alright, then,” he hums. “Show me.”

Something flashes in Jaskier’s eyes, and he sets to his task with enthusiasm, Geralt laughing quietly, without malice, when his pants finally go sailing across the room. “Gods, I’m not surprised you don’t wear underwear,” Jaskier groans, Geralt hissing in a breath when he wraps a hand around Geralt’s cock without warning. “And _this_ certainly lives up to the tales.”

Geralt huffs, reaching out until he can cup Jaskier’s chin in his hand, pull him in for another bruising kiss. Taking a guess, he says, “Do well enough, maybe I’ll even let _you_ tell your own tale.”

Jaskier’s breath leaves him, and Geralt smirks as he releases Jaskier’s chin, gesturing to his cock while he leans back against his pillow. He doesn’t have to say anything else, because the moment that Geralt releases him, Jaskier _slides_ down Geralt’s body before taking his cock back in hand, leaning in to lick a hot, wet stripe up the underside. Geralt tosses his head back with a groan, hands clenching in the sheets at his side.

“Well, that won’t do,” Jaskier says, pausing long enough to grab Geralt’s wrists, guiding his hands back to Jaskier’s already-mussed hair. “Come on, now; you seemed eager enough to yank on my hair a moment ago.”

“Witchers are stronger than you’re used to,” Geralt murmurs, though he threads his fingers through Jaskier’s hair regardless. “Don’t think me ripping some of your hair out would do you any favors.”

“It’ll grow back,” Jaskier promises before ducking his head and setting about his previous task, a satisfied hum leaving his throat when Geralt’s fingers tighten. He wraps his hand around Geralt’s cock, slides his mouth over the head, and hollows his cheeks. The glint in his eyes when Geralt groans again tells Geralt that if his mouth weren’t currently full, he’d be smirking.

Jaskier settles into an easy rhythm, clearly savoring the opportunity that’s presented itself. He never tries to take Geralt’s cock all the way, doesn’t gag himself on it - a good thing, in Geralt’s opinion, he’s never particularly enjoyed when his partners did that. He pushes himself, but he clearly knows his limits, and Geralt doesn’t intervene except to direct him to change his grip once or twice, and to give him quiet praise that makes Jaskier moan and throw himself into his self-assigned work with even more enthusiasm. 

Eventually, Geralt pulls Jaskier off of his cock. “Too close,” he grunts when Jaskier complains. “Get up here.”

“I thought the whole point of this was - _Whoa!_ ”

Geralt smirks down at Jaskier, gaze roaming appreciatively over the sight of his heaving chest, barely glistened with sweat, and the way his pupils have been blown wide. “I can’t very well let you have all the fun, now can I?” he asks rhetorically, grabbing Jaskier’s wrists and pinning them above his head, pressing them back above the pillow and giving Jaskier a pointed look. “Stay.”

Jaskier swallows audibly, and Geralt’s smirk widens, _sharpens,_ when he feels his cock twitch against his stomach. He keeps eye contact with Jaskier as he moves down the bed, lets his hands run down Jaskier’s ribs, over his hips and curl around his thighs. His callous-roughened skin catches, drags and scrapes against Jaskier’s smooth skin as he lifts Jaskier’s thighs, hooking them over his shoulders. “ _Geralt,_ ” Jaskier breathes, the sound of his name on Jaskier’s lips almost reverent.

Geralt just grins and ducks his head, lets his lips skim over the sensitive skin of Jaskier’s balls before ducking lower, dragging his tongue over Jaskier’s hole, his stubble rasping against the skin of his ass as he works Jaskier open with his tongue. He’s not surprise to learn that Jaskier is just as vocal in bed when he doesn’t have something in his mouth as he is out of it, but for once… Well, Geralt won’t even pretend to be annoyed by the noise. 

Just this once, as a matter of fact, he’ll even _encourage_ it. 

“Geralt, Geralt, I - _Fuck,_ Geralt, I have oil,” Jaskier blurts, making Geralt pause and lift his head.

He wipes at his mouth, something in his chest damn near purring as he watches Jaskier track the movement of his hand - and as he realizes that Jaskier’s hands haven’t moved from where Geralt put them. “Oil?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“If I don’t get your cock in me in the next minute, I might just lose my mind,” Jaskier groans. 

“What little of it you have left,” Geralt teases just to get an annoyed look from Jaskier as he sets his legs back down and sits up, reaching across and over the side of the bed to fetch Jaskier’s bag, digging through it to find the oil that Jaskier mentioned. He finds it easily, dropping the bag back over the edge of the bed once he has his prize. “You sure about this?”

“I have been wanting your cock ever since we met,” Jaskier retorts, his hands twisting above his head, the fabric of the pillowcase bunched in them. “I am _beyond_ certain that I want this, Geralt.”

“Can’t blame me for making sure,” Geralt mutters, popping the cap and pouring a generous measure of oil over his fingers before capping it once more. He shuffles closer on his knees, snorts when Jaskier immediately widens his legs to make room for Geralt. 

Geralt doesn’t waste time, reaching in to rub one finger over Jaskier’s hole for a moment, spreading some of the excess oil before he pushes in, smirking at Jaskier’s open-mouthed moan. He doesn’t give Jaskier time to adjust, sets about fucking him open with his fingers - but Jaskier clearly doesn’t mind, with the way that he’s rocking back against Geralt’s hand, whining and moaning with open abandon as Geralt works him up to two, three, and then four fingers before his patience finally reaches its limits.

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps, lids hooded as he meets Geralt’s gaze. “ _Fuck_ me - _please._ ”

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters, easing his fingers from Jaskier and reaching up with his non-oiled hand to pull Jaskier up so he can kiss him, humming slightly when Jaskier practically throws himself into Geralt’s lap. “How do you want this?” Geralt asks between kisses. “You’re the one getting fucked.”

“You seriously want me to _think_ and make a decision now?” Jaskier demands, groaning. “I don’t give a shit, just - Here.” He gives Geralt one more biting kiss before pulling back and turning so that his back is to Geralt’s front, and - Well, that puts him in a _very_ good position, in Geralt’s opinion. Especially when he immediately says, “Come _on,_ Geralt, don’t make me wait - “ and Geralt can cut him off with a hand around his throat, one in his hair, pulling until Jaskier’s back arches beautifully, the pounding of his pulse thrilling under Geralt’s fingers. 

“I don’t think you’re in any _position_ to be making demands right now, bard,” Geralt growls, baring his teeth in a sharp smirk when Jaskier’s breath hitches. Just to tease, Geralt rolls his hips, not enough to push in but enough to make his cock felt, making Jaskier whimper. 

“ _Please,_ Geralt,” he pleads, and for once, Geralt decides to take mercy on Jaskier. He moves the hand in Jaskier’s hair - he’s enjoying the thrum of Jaskier’s pulse beneath his fingertips too much to give that up just yet - to his cock, lining up and pressing in, slowly enough to give Jaskier time to adjust and to give himself time to savor the punched-out noises Jaskier makes. Geralt rocks his hips, pulling back and fucking back into Jaskier just to hear him gasp, feel the way he presses back into Geralt’s rolling thrusts as he works them closer, until his hips are pressed flush against Jaskier’s arse. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” he growls, pressing his forehead to the back of Jaskier’s neck, unable to resist nipping at the skin there.

“I hope you aren’t leaving bruises,” Jaskier says, breathless. “I don’t heal the way that you d- _Oh, gods,_ do that again.”

Hiding his grin against the nape of Jaskier’s neck, Geralt does, rolling his hips in a long, filthy movement that drags the head of his cock against that one _particular_ spot on both strokes as he fucks back in, his free hand curled around Jaskier’s hip and gripping tightly enough to bruise.

It’ll be hidden by his clothes, Jaskier won’t mind - and Geralt will take a _great_ deal of pleasure in watching the careful way Jaskier will walk in the morning, by the time they’re done. 

Jaskier never stops making noise as Geralt fucks him, but for once Geralt _encourages_ it. “Are you close?” he growls, giving in to the urge to take Jaskier’s earlobe in his teeth and tug. 

“ _Shit,_ ” Jaskier gasps, both hands flying up to tangle in Geralt’s hair and tug mindlessly, drawing a rumble from Geralt’s throat. “Yes, I-I’m so fucking - _Geralt,_ please, please touch me.”

Well, Geralt has always prided himself on taking care of his lovers, so he does as Jaskier asks, shifting the hand on his hip inwards until he can wrap his fingers around Jaskier’s cock, stroking in counterpoint to the rhythm he’s set up. It doesn’t take long for Jaskier to come, and despite Geralt’s expectations, he’s nearly silent when he does, a high-pitched whine caught in his throat as he spills over Geralt’s hand. His orgasm makes him tighten around Geralt’s cock, and it only takes a few more thrusts for Geralt to come, face buried in the side of Jaskier’s neck, teeth pressed against the skin there without biting down.

He lets Jaskier slump down to the bed, murmuring a wordless apology when Jaskier winces as his cock slips from his ass. Geralt slides off of the bed to find a cloth to clean them up with before he bundles Jaskier under the covers and joins him.

“Y’staying?” Jaskier mumbles, pressing close to Geralt, worming his way under Geralt’s arm until his head is tucked under Geralt’s chin.

“Not like you’re letting me leave,” Geralt mutters, ignoring the smirk Jaskier presses against his chest as his arms tighten.

Geralt will keep traveling in the morning. But for now… Well, Jaskier is perfectly tolerable when he’s asleep.


End file.
